A Bird's Eye View
by Finnity
Summary: That night he hadn’t carried her bridal style over the threshold like she’d always dreamed. He hadn’t thrown her onto their bed and ravished her. He hadn't even looked at her. She was his wife, she was gorgeous; Why won't Sirius Black touch her? Slash AU
1. Chapter 1

A Bird's-eye View

By Finnity

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: This will contain allusions to and scenes of slash (male/male love). So if that bothers you, please turn back now. Also, I feel I must warn you of my lack of general knowledge. I'm not exactly sure when this story is taking place- sometime earlier in the twentieth century, or perhaps completely AU (it's definitely AU though). So, if I make any mistakes or something seems off, don't hesitate to call it to my attention or offer suggestions (I can't guarantee I'll be able to fix it but I'll sure try! :)

_A/N: Yes, the title is a pun ("bird" as in girl and "bird's-eye" as in...well, you all know what that means), please don't throw things at me. My small (and regrettably sleep-deprived) mind thought it was clever, so...humor me, yeah? Also, the main character will have not have her name mentioned (if I can help it); that is purposeful. If you read "she" or "her" and there is no reference to any character, just credit the actions to her ("her" being the main character). The story will be through her eyes._

_Now, enough of my lengthy tangents, on with the story..._

Chapter 1: Wedding Night

It was a lovely wedding. Every bit the extravagant, ornate ceremony she'd always dreamed since her childhood. When she was young she knew she'd be married on a grassy moor by the seaside, surrounded by lavish ornamentation, melodious music, hundreds of guests, both relative and mere acquaintance, gifts, and other such opulence. There were numerous envious glares cast in her direction, but that only fueled her high spirits. Men wanted her. Women wanted to be her. What more could a woman ask for in life? After all, if people never valued what you have, how would you know how much it was really worth? Judging form the covetous looks cast at her, she gathered it must be valued rather extraordinarily.

Oh, but best of all was her husband. She couldn't have dreamed up a better candidate. Honestly, the man was handsome, from a well-known, _wealthy_ family, therefore both rich and prestigious. She didn't know too much about his personality (Other than that he seemed as enigmatic and dark as his looks insinuated), as she had only met him a few times prior to the wedding, but he appeared to be an interesting character, with a sort of self-assured, aloofness. He seemed decent enough.

Did she mention that he was handsome? Because there was no doubt about that. As she watched him conversing quietly with an acquaintance with dreadfully unkempt hair (how terribly uncouth; this was a wedding, not a football pitch), who was perhaps a person from the company Mr. Black, Sr. owned (What was they manufactured, again? Tobacco?), she couldn't help feel her heart flutter in anticipation for the night to come. This was real. In a matter of hours she'd have her fingers entwined in that sleek, black hair, staring into beautiful, lust-filled eyes that mirror her own want.

Suddenly, as if sensing her thoughts, those eyes (One could get lost in those dark, grey depths and lose all regard for directions completely) were turned in her direction, and when their eyes met, it felt like an electrical storm, cool tingling surging through her body and warmth spreading to her extremities; like the sensory upheaval she'd experienced when it was their lips that touched at the words "you may now kiss the bride."

His face was a blank slate, and he made no motion of acknowledgement toward her. When she raised a hand in a tentative waving motion, he did not wave back. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly, conveying an emotion she'd yet to learn from her few observations of the inscrutable Sirius Black. However, when the edges of lips quirked upward ever so slightly, she felt as if it were not a warm smile; it seemed to her to be almost..._mocking_, as if he were on the verge of condescending laughter (Surely that wasn't so. No, no, it was a trick of the mind, too many glasses of wine perhaps...?), when he finally looked away.

There! She'd definitely seen it! Right before he tore his eyes away. There had been an almost predatory look in his eyes. She had not imagined it, if his wicked laughter was anything to go by. That was all the reassurance she needed. She could hardly stand the hour's wait before he took her home...

That night he hadn't carried her bridal style over the threshold like she'd always dreamed. He hadn't thrown her onto their bed and ravished her. He hadn't stared longingly and romantically into her eyes as if she was the one thing he needed in the world. He hadn't even _looked_ at her. When they'd reached his expectedly lavish home, he'd walked silently up the stairs while she'd followed equally mutely. He had allowed her into the bedroom and, without a single word or glance behind, entered the conjoined bathroom.

His behavior confused her, but that's not to say it discouraged her want. In fact, it excited her. He was so very... _masculine_, feigning disinterest. She scurried about trying to remove her bulky gown and her hair from its bobby-pinned hold. After several minutes of wrenching and writhing, she successfully discarded her dress, scrambling to the mirror to begin the meticulous process of removing the pins from her hair without ruining her perfectly coiled curls. After checking to make sure that each pin had been removed, she fluffed her hair a bit and smoothed out the creases of her nightdress before moving to the bed.

When Sirius finally opened the door to the bathroom, clad in shorts and an undershirt, he tossed his suit unceremoniously to the carpet and climbed into bed. She followed him, expecting that was what he'd intended her to do (He was not indifferent; he was just a man). She lay her body beside his with unrepressed hesitancy. After several moments of silence and inaction, she decided that he perhaps wanted _her_ to take action (after all, these were modern times; things were changing). She shifted closer and lifted her arms out for him.

"Goodnight," he bit out, with such firmness and finality that she recoiled and drew her arms, instead, around herself. Confusion affected her restless mind and so remained her sleep.

_A/N: Read, review, and constructively criticize, please! I know I said I would write another chapter for my "I Trust You" story, but I've been through one of my frequent, periodic funks, and I never got around to finishing it (and I don't feel like I could do it justice if I wrote now). I wrote this a while ago and thought I'd go over it. I'm not the greatest at expression or forethought in writing, but I really thought this was a good premise for a story (the inspiration of which I got from "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof") and decided to try it. So..._

Horrible? Decent? Should I continue? Or nip it in the bud?


	2. Chapter 2

A Bird's-eye View

By Finnity

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: This will contain allusions to and scenes of slash (male/male love). So if that bothers you, please turn back now. Also, I feel I must warn you of my lack of general knowledge. I'm not exactly sure when this story is taking place- sometime earlier in the twentieth century, or perhaps completely AU (it's definitely AU though). So, if I make any mistakes or something seems off, don't hesitate to call it to my attention or offer suggestions (I can't guarantee I'll be able to fix it but I'll sure try! :)

A/N: Sorry, I have no excuses. I hope this is adequate. Actually, I hope it's better, but I'll let you readers be the judge.

Chapter 2: Dear Darling

The next night hadn't changed anything. Nor the next. She had assumed he was tired or had a headache, a heart condition- _anything_ else that would prevent a husband from performing on his wedding night, but a week had passed and still no change. He went straight to bed at night and they didn't talk about it in the morning. She had to finally concede that it was not going to happen. She was a smart woman so I knew that this wasn't something to do with a "delicate constitution" or some sort of fear of inadequacy- this was all too clear. Sirius hardly graced her with words. He barely even _looked_ at her. It was almost affecting her ego how utterly indifferent he seemed to her beauty and her undeniable charm. It was not conceit, her mother had once told her, to be aware of one's attributes. She was a handsome woman, petite yet not without womanly contours.

Why, then, did Sirius not want her?

No. It was not that he didn't _want_ her. How could he not? She was a woman, and a pretty one at that. He must be playing hard to get. Or something. At any rate, it was a challenge, and one that she shall have to triumph; even if she ceases to love him in the process.

But that would never happen. She had taken to him quickly, sure, but it couldn't possibly be that simple to fall out of love with someone. She reckons you fall in love forever, even when you've had your heart broken, even after you've met someone else. The love must simply hide in the depths of your heart, the very reclusive confines of your mind, eclipsed by the new love. But it will flicker into consciousness every now and then, when you least expect it, reminding you, _remember me? Remember _this_? That wasn't so very long ago…_

Oh, she's being silly, getting all philosophical when she should be contemplating a plan. Oh, but that was part of the plan, wasn't it? Get him to fall in love with her, so that he will forever be chai- _connected_ to her; first by Love, then through Mind. Simple.

Oh yes. _Very_ simple. Simple for _her_. What had it taken? Her eyes landing on his handsome face. He wasn't even kind to her. And yet she couldn't stop herself from falling. Despite, or perhaps _due to_, his inaffections she found herself actually _falling_ for him, and not the way she had initially succumb to giddy pleasure when she thought of how utterly _perfect _a man he was. No. She _wanted_ him, more than any other man she'd ever laid eyes on. She wanted him and she couldn't have him. This was a concept unbeknownst to her. Whenever she wanted something, she knew just how to get it. And it was real work. Easy though it was for her, possessing a well-endowed artillery of luscious curls, curves, and everything arc in between, and being a master of such weaponry, she always came out of the brush victorious. Hitherto, it had never failed.

Then there was Sirius.

She had tried delving into her supply of womanly wiles: blushes, brushes, sultry giggles, ego-stroking, even the unashamedly forward flaunting and pressing of feminine curves against his body. None of them worked. She tried everyday, each time stepping up a notch, from coquettish to downright harlot-worthy.

This afternoon, she was currently alone, reading the newspaper for lack of anything better to do. As it was a weekday, Sirius was at work, leaving her nothing to do. For the past couple of weeks she'd been spending her time alone thinking up ways to win him over, figure him out. She'd had little success.

By the second week, however, though she could admit, without cringing that it didn't seem like Sirius had relented (or will) in the slightest, she remained satisfied in the notion that until her efforts were realized, she would not go entirely without husbandly affections. She had ascertained the secret to getting _some_ touches from him, even if they weren't genuine. All she had to do was play the loving wife in public and she would get to touch his arm, call him "honey," maybe even coax a "dear" out him in return, however grudgingly. She knew, after the disdainful stares he shot at her while doing so, how much he resented her for it, however clever her actions may have been, but she had resolved to go all out, with no regard for collateral casualties- those were sacrifices she was willing to make for the realization of the goal- an no sympathizing with the enemy…otherwise there was no conceivable way she could attain the enemy's love. So he would feel slighted, at first; he'd warm up to her soon enough. As with some of her tougher conquers, a vacillating strategy might help: touchy and cuddly, then tantalizingly cool and aloof- Sirius won her with aloofness, after all.

While he didn't respond well to her plan, he also _didn't respond_, which is a step forward, considering she didn't receive the usual glares and biting remarks. He was blank, nonchalant, and he was _unresponsive_! It was only a matter of time now.

She idly turned the page of her newspaper, eyes still focused dazedly on the air above the page.

Yes, married life had been getting more tolerable lately. It did not bother her that the affections she wheedled from Sirius were just that- _coaxed_, unwanted, forced, and very, very resented- so long as she got them. It was like a Chinese finger trap, their relationship; the more you tried to pull away, the more constricted the trap's bamboo-hold on your fingers becomes. The only way to escape was to relent, go in the opposite direction and _against_ the instinct of using force. Sirius was clever; it hadn't taken him long to figure _her _trap out. It took even more quickly for him to determine that the best manner of escape was to just surrender to her strange whims until, as he thought, the threads comprised of her false hope and tenacity ceased to constrict on his resolve. This, presumably, would be when she finally tired of her game, or when, as she predicted, she finally won him over. So, the only thing for him to do was, not to pull away, but to go along with it.

And go along, he did, when he'd allowed her to "dear" and "sweetie" him, mollycoddle and fondle him. They even talked a bit more, which was a welcome change to the silence to which she'd been accustomed, even if the things he said weren't always so warm or encouraging. It would not discourage her that this pseudo-geniality was usually in the company of people and generally consisted of the necessary "pass the butter, please," or the obligatory "and how was your day, dear?" when they had guests, as it would seem terribly untoward not to inquire of his wife's day and, at the very least, pretend to care.

The underlying disdain, however, was often hard to ignore and so very evidently _there_, that she was surprised no one else had noticed it when it was so immensely suffocating, threatening to coat her lungs and choke her thus. She could almost see the tension in the air, hovering like dust motes after having been stirred in the most neglected of rooms (She will never be a neglected room). It may have been half-heartedly and vainly suppressed, but it was always just under the surface if one cared to look, that uninhibited, patronizing look of _get away from me _whenever she so much as tread in his direction. She had to plead incredible ignorance sometimes rather than admit to herself that too often, it really did seem like Sirius was repulsed by her. If she was not such an assured and tenacious woman she might have been deterred in her attempts to win her husband over. But this was not the case, and she could see the beginnings of give in his formerly rigid resolve.

So she continued, learning from her experiences rather than allowing them to overwhelm and dissuade her. She had already concluded that the best way to make life more pleasant, and their marriage seem more _normal_, was to constantly keep people around until such a time when Sirius would want to be with her not just to keep up appearances, but of his own desire to be near her. She assumed that's what he was doing, anyway, _keeping up appearances_. Why else would his manner change when the amount of people with them did? In any case, she knew the solution to one problem, if no where near the discovery of _why_ there was a problem to begin with. It hadn't taken her long to catch on, and she soon tried inviting people to their home, under the pretense that she was merely being gregarious and neighborly, but Sirius, presumably wise to her actions, refused her pleas for company. She'd even resorted to keeping the maid around, but Sirius didn't seem to count her presence as much of one since he continued ignoring her as if she weren't his own wife, and the maid seemed too flustered around Sirius to even notice and took any opportunity to leave the room, which was usually almost immediately after Sirius entered it. She probably had a crush on the man, silly girl.

Speaking of the devil…

"Evangeline," she called as the young lady entered the living room brandishing a dust cloth. She looked up, startled, when she heard her name.

"Yes, miss?"

"Turn the lamp on, will you? I can't see a thing in this darkness."

The girl hastened to the lamp. "It is awful dark for midday, Miss, don't you think?"

She repressed a very unladylike snort. "It's England. The weather here is almost as dismal as the food."

"Yes," said Evangeline, "it is. Worse, even." She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, no doubt wondering why her "Miss" was indulging her with such pleasantries. "Miss, did you-?"

"Hold that thought," she interrupted, holding her finger up haltingly as she surveyed the newspaper article in front of her. "Another trolley accident, would you look at that?"

Before Evageline could lean across the table and even pretend to "look at that," Mrs. Black (How wonderful to be known as such!) had already turned the page and resumed weeding through the paper aimlessly. Evangeline turned to carry on dusting and had almost completed the entire room when she heard a knock at the front door accompanied by the chime of a doorbell.

"Oh, I'll get that," she said, scurrying to the door.

"No, no," said Mrs. Black, pulling up from her chair. "What would be the point of you getting the door if it's for me? Carry on with your work."

With that she left the startled maid behind to answer the front door when the doorbell chimed again. She turned the handle, wondering who would be calling for her, as Sirius had still not returned from work. She swung the door open to reveal a tall, petite figure, of whom she recognized instantly. Actually, it wasn't the figure she recognized but the striking features.

Lily Evans: the town beauty. With dark red hair and startlingly green eyes, it was no wonder. However, one should not be fooled by such a delicate visage; Lily may be as beautiful as her namesake, but her delicacy was far from it. She was brash, outspoken, had a temper like a hurricane, and was generally very unladylike. At any rate, that was the account she'd gotten from the rumor mills, which mostly consisted of women she'd met around the neighborhood, who were, no doubt, less attractive than the infamous Lily Evans. They were probably exaggerating her _masculine_ tendencies as a way of patching their deflating egos, and at the expense of revealing their jealousy in a most unbecoming manner. It must have been so, because this Miss Evans, despite her rumored unruliness, had apparently turned away masses of men as a younger lady. Although, now she was well past the age of twenty, and consequently of proper marrying age, she had been receiving fewer offers, or so Mrs. Black had been told. A good majority of men, once marriage came into play, come to realize that a woman who was as opinionated and ambitious as Lily so evidently was, while entrancing and endearing as a teenager, was not a wise choice for a wife. And rightly so; it just wasn't right for a woman to be so… masculine. And she should not act so in public, as though she were unashamed. _Proud_, even. No, no. This Lily could not be nearly as unladylike as they say. There couldn't be such women.

"Hello, Mrs. Black," Lily greeted at length. "How are you?"

"I'm lovely," she answered courteously, but not entirely truthfully. Today was an exceptionally boring day, with nothing to look forward to but an old newspaper. "How about you?" she asked, remembering that typical social protocol required her to reciprocate the pleasantry. Well, Lily couldn't be as horrible as they said, then. She seemed to have manners.

"I've been better, in all honesty. Work was particularly tiring today."

Oh. She's forgotten about that. There was apparently another thing about Lily Evans that she'd assumed had been exaggerated and was apparently wrong in doing so; Lily was more involved with her career than with finding herself a husband and provider. She was one of those odd, progressive women the neighborhood ladies spoke of, the type that she had never witnessed where she came from and therefore didn't think existed. The peculiar thing, however, that no one who knows Lily will ever understand, Mrs. Black now included in this mass, is that most of those enlightened women- the _feminists_ and _intellectuals_- were, for lack of a better word, ugly, unappealing, and gauche (Well, that may have been more than one word, but they were fitting nonetheless). Lily, with such beauty, charm, and confidence, was truly an exception.

"Well," said Lily, after no response from her companion. "May I come in? It's starting to drizzle."

"Oh!" she answered, noticing the sporadic streams of water falling from the sky. "Yes, do come in." She stepped aside, allowing Lily to precede her.

Once in the living room, she offered Lily a seat, taking one herself. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked with genuine curiosity and something else bordering on suspicion.

"Ah," said Lily, surprised, having been surveying the room unabashedly. "Yes, I was wondering if Sirius was in. I know he has work today, but I assumed he'd be back by now. Anyway, there was something James- James Potter; you must know him- wished me to convey to Sirius. He would have done it himself, so he says, but he has a football match, away." She smiled for some inexplicable reason before continuing. "And says he won't be back until tomorrow. So anyway, here I am." Lily paused, smiling genially, and looked at her companion expectantly, as though she'd just asked a question. Lily, she reasoned, may just be as strange as they said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Is Sirius here?"

She blinked at the abruptness of the response. "No," she answered. "He's still out."

"Ah," repeated Lily. "Do you suppose he'll be in soon? I can't stick around too long, but I was told to give him a message. I suppose I could come back later; do you know when he'll be back? If you're expecting him within the hour I suppose leaving now would be-"

"Is this any message I can relay to him, Miss Evans?" She was being rude by interrupting, but she could not stand any more of Lily's rambling. It was strange; it was not a typical nervous babble- Lily was nothing if not confident- it was more of a monologue, a self-talk, as if Mrs. Black were witnessing the (_incessant_) thought processes of Lily's mind in its external display. Lily was a loud thinker.

After her question, however, there was silence. "Actually," said Lily at last. "I don't know what the message entails exactly, but I presume it to be private and for Sirius's ears and eyes alone. No offense to you, Mrs. Black," she added at seeing her companion's affronted expression. "I just believe very strongly in the sanctity of privacy."

Mrs. Black checked her countenance, reminding herself that it was neither proper nor prudent to let one's emotions show. (What _didn't_ Lily believe strongly about?). "Not at all," she said, flipping a rogue curl over her shoulder. Then, remembering that Lily had asked her a question, she replied, cringing as she did so. "I…I'm not sure when Sirius will be in. He, ah, didn't say. But it shouldn't be much longer, I'd… wager." Though she regretted adding that inadvertent invitation for Lily to stay and wait for Sirius to return, she also wanted to be around to hear what the message was when Lily finally revealed it to him.

"Right," said Lily. "I suppose I should wait then," and though it wasn't a question, she nodded her assent.

"So," said Lily, after a long while of silence. "I hope I hadn't interrupted anything important by intruding so." She smiled apologetically.

"Ah," she answered, berating herself for following in Lily's lead in inarticulacy. "No. I was only reading the paper."

"The newspaper?" Lily inquired. "May I trouble you for it?" And then, because she was Lily, and therefore cannot simply ask a question and wait for an answer, she followed it up with an explanation. "I haven't had a chance to read mine yet. I've been incredibly busy with work, and then I had to go grocery shopping, and what a mess _that_ is."

Lily, she decided, was a talker. If not stopped, she'd probably talk for hours without break. The issue here revolves around the _if not stopped_. Mrs. Black's course of action, therefore, was to stop her.

"Miss Evans, would you like to borrow my newspaper?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached for the newspaper lain across the coffee tabletop and extended it to Lily, who took it graciously, scouring the paper at once.

"Ah!" Lily cried in amusement, startling her. Then she began laughing. Mrs. Black was taken aback by the sound of such unbridled, boisterous amusement. "My apologies," she said around her giggling, if one could grant her noises that ladylike a term. "It's this 'Dear Darling' column; it's hilarious. Some of these 'dilemmas' are such common sense issues that it really says little for society that _these_ are the most complicated they could find." She laughed again and shook the page open in front of her face dramatically as she began to read aloud. "Here, listen:

"_Dear Darling,_

_I have been married for three months now. My husband (Jonathan) is a dream, and our home is wonderful. He and my family get along. My family and his family get along. There is a problem, however. I love his family to death, but I feel as if Jonathan's mother thinks me…incompetent. She doesn't mean to be overbearing or belittling, I know, and I don't want to cause a confrontation. Jonathan really loves his mother, and I wouldn't want him to think I don't appreciate her advice, because I do. She is a very experienced homemaker and I am nothing but reverent of her. However, when she ceaselessly tells me how I can _improve my housekeeping skills, _or_ go a little lighter on the salt, _I cannot help feeling depreciated. What's worse is when_ _she offers to iron my husband's shirts (and he accepts, thinking nothing of it). I know she's trying to help, and he _is_ her son, but it embarrasses me that I can't take care of my own husband. What should I do?_

_Sincerely, _

_Daughter-in-law with a Dilemma"_

"That's a riot! Honestly! I have a suggestion: grow a pair and tell the woman to back off! The _man_ is not a _boy_ anymore. Let's see the advice now…

"_Dear Daughter-in-law,_

_That is quite a dilemma. An epic quandary in which you are not alone. New Wife vs. Mother-in-law. Think of it as an initiation into married life; a coming-of-age, if you will. It happens to everyone and they all get through it. Remember the age-old saying: just grin and bear it. I know it doesn't sound pleasant, but it will pay off in the long run; no confrontation, and the maintenance of your husband's and his mother's happiness. It's good of you to revere your Mother-in-law. Filial Piety; this is the Confucian ideal that it is essential to respect one's elders, especially parents and relatives. You are fulfilling your duty as a person, and as a wife by making you husband happy. If you continue to feel unappreciated, talk to your husband. He may be able to reassure you and get you back on track, and if he agrees with you, you might even get him to decline his mother's offers to clean his shirts! Remember that small acts may provide gargantuan relief. _

_Sincerely,_

_Darling_

"That's the advice! Grin and _bear it!_ The duty of a wife is not to _endure._ This isn't the Eighteenth bloody Century- pardon the language- I can't even- I don't- this is ridiculous!_ Respect your elders; _ha! I'll only show respect to those who deserve it."

Mrs. Black looked on in horror at Lily's unrepentant disregard for social mores, and sought to dissipate into her chair when Lily let out another derisive laugh and continued her inexorable rant.

"…and_ tell her husband_? Like she has to defer to him. She's a grown woman; she can handle a little adult confrontation. Besides, that'snot even clever. The advice wasn't _even_ that; it was trite and completely useless information. All she- or by the sound of it, _he_- did was use a load of clichés and very general, ineffectual recommendations. And look at the superfluous insertion of Confucian ideals; its obvious the bint just wants to sound intelligent. I suppose she has to make up for her incompetence as a journalist somehow. _I_ could have been a better advice columnist. _James Bloody Potter_ could have been a better advice columnist."

"James Potter?" asked Mrs. Black, hoping this would have the equivalent effect of leading a horse off the jagged, potholed path.

"Yes, you know him. Sirius's friend. Best, actually," she added with a curious quirk of the lips. "He was best man, even."

_Best man… best man._ …why wasn't it coming to her?

"He's the one who gave me _this_," she waved a small, plain-looking white envelope. "He's also the one who told me Sirius would be back by this time, but it wouldn't be the first time he's assumed things and been incorrect. Heh," she exhaled air, not quite a snort, but far from a laugh, "_Men_."

Oh, _God_! Apparently the topic of James Potter wasn't to be the smooth, unfettered path she'd assumed. No, apparently, she'd lead them right from crooked and rutted into a trail laden with bushes, thorned and tangled.

Suddenly something clicked. "The lanky man with untidy hair!" she exclaimed in epiphany.

Silence. Silence that gave Mrs. Black enough time to review what she'd just said and grimace.

Then Lily laughed raucously, a laugh far more loud and boisterous than Mrs. Black has ever heard even from a man, barring perhaps a drunkard falling unceremoniously out of a saloon. "Oh," said Lily, wiping the mirthful tears from the corner of her eye, "Oh, that was brilliant." Before Mrs. Black could wonder if Lily was mocking, and take offence, she continued, laughingly all the while. "Honestly, I've never heard such an apt description of James Potter. Mind if I borrow it?"

"Oh, er…" She was spared a proper answer by the sound of the front door. "_Sirius_," she exhaled, not really a whisper - it wasn't quite soft enough- but a breathy exclamation.

"Ah," said Lily, rising from her seat and placing the newspaper she'd left neglected on her lap delicately on the vacated seat. "He's here, then."

Mrs. Black nodded absently, scurrying to meet Sirius at the door, Lily in tow.

"Lily," greeted Sirius when he saw them, "hello. How are you?"

Sirius stood atop the entrance rug, rain-slick shoes pressing dark, wet patches into the fabric. He held an umbrella in one hand and a coat slung over the other, but he appeared to have used neither. His hair was plastered to his head, stray strands sticking to his forehead and cheeks, and even his shirt seemed to be splattered with wetness, sticking to his form in odd places. He looked very young, and not just because he had that look of a five-year-old who'd just come in from splashing in puddles. He looked not just young, but simply not as _old_ as he'd appeared since the first time she'd met him. The perpetual frown, the dent between his brows, which she hadn't entirely noticed were there until their disappearance.

Also, he appeared not so surprised by Lily's presence. Lily must have sensed it too because when she was strangely hesitant when she extracted the envelope from her person.

"Hello yourself, Sirius," she said, smiling genially. "I'm fine. I actually came here to relay a message - you don't seem surprised to see me here," she added, almost questioningly.

"That would be because I'm not," said Sirius matter-of-factly. "I came across James; he told me- about the letter, and told me to tell you he's really sorry for making you waste your time for nothing. If you get a hold of him, tell him I'll miss him dearly and that he's been a good friend. Also, for the sake of said best friend, make it a quick and painless death, yeah? For me?"

Laughing, Lily placed one hand on Sirius's shoulder and, with the other, pushed the mysterious envelope to his chest. "Take care, Sirius. You too, dear," she added to Mrs. Black. Then she exited, casting a coy "I'll think about it" over her shoulder.

* * *

That night, as both she and Sirius mutually occupied the living room, any hope she'd had of discovering the contents of the envelope were incinerated, up in flames with the letter Sirius had casually tossed into the fireplace after reading. She could not even attempt to gauge the possible secret messages that lie within from reading his reactions, his face, as always, an illegible mask. So while Sirius watched the flames voraciously consume the only tangible clue she'd had to go by, Mrs. Black, turning resolutely away, began to skim her newspaper for what was probably the tenth time that day. Her eyes came across the column Lily had sardonically recited earlier.

The thing was… she didn't see how it was so horrendous. The advice actually appeared, to her, rather appropriate and helpful. In fact, it was quite insightful…

She wondered… How would Darling reply to a… Confused Consort?

* * *

A/N: Disregard the unimaginative 'Dear Darling' and "daughter-in-law dilemma." This is the name (and a similar situation) I came up with for a ninth grade English project.


	3. Chapter 3

A Bird's-eye View

By Finnity

A/N: Sorry, I've been busy with school (college sucks when you have no idea what you're going to do with your life; I bet I was older than you thought I was judging by my writing huh? I am perpetually stuck in seventeen-year-old mode) and will be, so updates will continue to be sporadic.

Chapter 3: A Friend From Work

It was morning as usual, which meant that Sirius was already up and dressed. Another fortunate revelation for her was that if Sirius thought she was asleep, he'd change in the bedroom, when he would usually change in the confines of the bathroom, a haven from her prying eyes. She caught on quickly and craftily feigned sleep every morning. Even her biological clock had grasped the concept, the impeccable timing granting her eyes a forbidden treat; she woke up every morning just as he was emerging from the bathroom and heading toward his dresser to change. She'd use the mornings' images to gratify her unfulfilled fantasies, to recreate her wedding night into something more satisfying and less, well…pathetic. She was a married woman, who would have thought she'd have to rely on fantasies.

After he'd exited the room she turned over to the side of the bed he had abandoned not too long ago and let the remains of his body heat warm her skin. She could imagine his calloused touch instead of the itchy softness of the sheets. She breathed in the scent from his pillow (_his_ scent) and let the images of mornings soak her mind, thereby fulfilling the physical faculties (excluding of course, _taste),_ her imagination required to imagine what he'd deprived her of.

Broad shoulders. Sinewy back muscles. That musky, earthy scent of a man. Sultry, deepened voice chanting her name. Sleek black hair gently caressing the angles of his face. Rough fingers pushing the hair back to reveal tempting ear lobes. Rough fingers that refuse to smooth her hair, caress her cheek…

The sheets had lost their warmth by now. She turned over to her back and sighed. Even her fantasies left her cold and unsatisfied. Suddenly a door shut- the front door, she thought with a start. Was he leaving already? On a Sunday? And without telling her? Actually, that last bit wasn't surprising, but she ignored that thought and hastily scrambled out of bed.

"Sirius!" she cried, frantically stumbling her way down the steps. "Sirius, where are you…"

She trailed off when she noticed that he was not alone. There was a small, rotund man with fuzzy, graying hair standing beside Sirius with an amused smile on his face.

"Oh. Hello, dear," she greeted with contrived nonchalance.

Sirius stared at her in a way no woman would appreciate being looked at while she was dressed in nothing more than a night gown: something akin to horror, embarrassment and disbelief. After several seconds of gaping, he finally managed to regain himself to stumble out a flustered apology, to his companion, not her.

"Mr. Hamill," he addressed the man who, she gathered, must have just entered the house. "I am extremely sorry, sir. This is-" he started, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his wife.

"Ah! Mrs. Black, I presume," Mr. Hamill cut in jovially. "How lovely to finally meet you," he added, eying her attire amusedly.

"Oh, yes! Mr. Hamill," she answered, recognizing the name. "You work with my Sirius. How are you, sir?"

"Very well, indeed! It's been a beautiful weekend. And how are you on this fine morning?"

"Lovely, as well, my good sir! Would you believe-"

"Pardon my interruption," said Sirius, shooting Mr. Hamill an apologetic glance, "but what did you seek me for?" he queried, glancing briefly at his wife to let her know he was addressing her. "I gather it must have been terribly urgent for you to careen after me in such a manner."

She almost flushed under his unwavering, reproachful gaze, but as she was a quick-witted woman with a high threshold for discomfiture, she reveled in the rare contact between their eyes. No matter that it wasn't physical. Baby steps, she reassured herself.

She plastered a sensuous quirk to her lips, batting her eyes coyly, and cooed with saccharine smoothness, "Only the urgency of _love_, dear." She allowed herself an internal victory smirk when _Sirius Black_ spluttered, incoherence very unbecoming of him.

"That is highly inappropriate talk," he rebuked, finally, when he managed to regain his composure. He transferred his disdainful, wife-ward glare to Mr. Hamill in the form of a silent apology, while the verbal one was discarded with careless wave of the hand.

"Oh go on, Mr. Black," said Mr.Hamill. "There're only married ears here. I may be old, but _love_ is no foreign subject to me, sir." This gentle admonishment was punctuated with a animated wink.

"Yes, sir," Sirius said, bowing his head courteously in Mr. Hamill's direction. From where she was standing, she thought she saw Sirius roll his eyes, but it could have been the awkward angle from which she'd seen his face, or a trick of the light in those gorgeous grey eyes…

"…to the office. I suggest you get yourself properly dressed in the meantime."

She hadn't even realized she was being spoken to, too busy staring into the eyes trained her direction to wonder why or even notice his mouth moving. She snapped back to her senses after vaguely recalling him say something about the office.

Ignoring his later comment, she echoed him dumbly, "The office?" She shook her head confusedly. "It's Sunday. You're not working on a Sunday, surely?"

"Nonsense!" cried Mr. Hamill. "I've only asked Mr. Black to retrieve some documents for me. You'll have your husband back in no time, to do with him as you please on this lovely Sunday."

She giggle obligingly. "Thank you kindly, sir."

"No matter. I would have gotten them myself, you know, but the papers are in his office and I haven't the key. Your husband is a very private man, you see. Oh, but of course you wouldn't know much about that. You're his wife!"

She felt a very curious sting in her abdomen at those words. What did he mean by that? Did he deduce how Sirius treated her not as a wife, but as an inconvenient houseguest. No, surely not. It wouldn't have been proper etiquette to say so, even is he had. Which he did not. He had meant that Sirius would have opened up to her, being her husband and all. The sting didn't go away after that clarification. Yes, she knew he was a private person, but only because he was so reserved around _her_, his wife, the one person he should have been unguarded with…

_Oh_…

Just like that the stinging sensation became a pleasant one; an epiphany. Maybe he wasn't guarded around her because he _disliked _her, but because he was, in fact, treating her as he did everyone else. She wasn't sure if that should have reassured her, her husband treating her like he treated other people, no one special, but it did. It wasn't that he disliked her. He was just a reserved individual, was all. She'd give him time, and a little bit of cajoling.

"Yes, well," began Sirius, irritably, "as much as I like being the topic of conversation, I think we should be going."

"Wait!" she yelled as he and Mr. Hamill made their way to the door, then added, with exaggerated sweetness, "_dear._" She stepped down a step, hesitantly. "May I join you and Mr. Hamill on your walk?"

She knew the answer to the inquiry before she even asked, and she certainly wasn't expecting a 'yes.' But having an audience had its advantages.

Sirius looked irritated, no doubt wise to her intentions, but Mr. Hamill cut off any objection he might have voiced with a jovial, "Of course, dear lady!" Sirius scowled. "Your company would no doubt make the journey all the merrier. After we've done our business you and Mr. Black can have a private stroll, eh? I know when my wife and I were newly-wed we could scarcely be seen apart. What do you say, sound good?"

"Oh! I think it sounds like a lovely idea!" she exclaimed, bouncing excitedly on her toes. "Sirius?"

"You still have to dress," he pointed out, "and you know how long women take 'preparing themselves'," he added to Hamill.

"Oh, not this lady, I'm sure," answered Hamill, "not with a face like that." Mrs. Black giggled appreciatively.

"Hurry then," Sirius bit out through gritted teeth, and even if his tight smile and forcibly light tone could fool Mr. Hamill, they did not deceive her. His resentment- not for Mr. Hamill, but for _her_- was all too apparent in those cold grey eyes. Like stone, they were; she would see them filled with desire even if it took her a lifetime.

* * *

They walked side-by-side on the crowded sidewalk. It didn't matter that they took up half the path. They were rich and beautiful; people moved for _them_. They even spared them passing, reverent glances. Mrs. Black loved it. She was dressed in various shades of indigo to accentuate her eyes, and although she'd had little time to properly titivate, she'd managed to get Lila, their maid, to tie her messy curls into a loose braid, which she parted to hang from the nape of her neck and down to rest on her shoulder. She knew she looked good, even on one of her sparse disordered days- which is a feat in itself, no matter that she attracted the gaze of more male eyes than any other woman on the street.

She felt a harsh nudge, disrupting her reverie. She looked up sharply and when she met Sirius's eyes, he jerked his head discreetly toward Mr. Hamill, who was gazing at her inquisitively. That was when she put two and two together and realized he must have asked her a question.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hamill," she said, feigning an apologetic countenance. "I didn't catch that; would you mind repeating?"

"Not a problem. I was only curious how you've gotten along with Sirius's family. Sirius tells me he gets on fine with your parents and says the same for you and his, but I like to hear things from the horse's mouth. I know the Blacks, and no one is good enough for their boys, though I reckon they must have taken a liking to you or you two wouldn't be married, eh?" He finished his speech with an exaggerated wink as she watched Sirius look away in irritation.

"Oh, yes," said she, "his parents are lovely, and exceedingly obliging. Very courteous and prestigious family, the Blacks."

Sirius's unobtrusive huff of distaste was not discreet enough to escape her notice, though Mr. Hamill seemed not to spot it. "That's good," he said, nodding, "I have a daughter of my own, and I know that as long as he loves her, any beloved of hers would be welcomed warmly into the family." His eyes scanned the path before them, but seemed not to really focus on any particular thing. He turned abruptly toward her. "How do you feel about children?"

Children? she thought. To say she'd never thought about it would be a lie. To say she hadn't thought about it in a good light since babysitting for her cousin's children would be spot on. "Oh, I…" _abhor them_. "They're… nice. God's gifts, you know."

"I don't suppose you plan on having kids anytime soon?"

Oh! Suddenly it hit her. Kids! Why hadn't she thought of that? She didn't want kids, that was certain, but if she could get what she wanted from Sirius through this baby-making façade, then she would put up with the consequences. It hardly fazed her that that might result in her being a _mother_ (losing her figure, letting herself go, lack of sleep, nuisances running about the house… no no, that won't happen to her; that's what grandparents are for).

"Actually," she said suddenly, and Sirius's eyes snapped to her. "I would very much like to have a child in the near future."

"Ah. So you two are trying for a baby then?" Mr. Hamill queried.

Sirius looked stricken, comically wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and shaking his head emphatically. "No." He shook his head again. "No," he repeated resolutely, and that seemed all he could say at the moment.

"No?" echoed Mr. Hamill, looking at Sirius, then his wife, then back to Sirius in obvious confusion.

"Well," she amended, "not now. However, in the very near future, we hope. It's not set in stone or anything, but that's how it's done, isn't it?"

Mr. Hamill chuckled, nudging Sirius's elbow. "The man stands no chance in such matters, believe me. Whatever the woman wants, the woman gets, and if the woman wants a baby…" He trailed off purposefully, confident Sirius got the point, which, if the vacant stare was anything to go by, he did. "You keep that in mind."

When Sirius and his wife locked eyes, she allowed herself a challenging, triumphant quirk of the lips and cocked eyebrow. Her expression seemed to echo Mr. Hamill's words. _You keep that in mind._

Looking away deliberately, Sirius spoke in a definitive tone, "I don't plan on delving into this discussion in public, but so far the decision remains in the negative. Now if you'll excuse me," he inclined his head slightly, before traversing the final steps between them and a building she supposed was _the office_. "I'll just retrieve those papers and be out in two minutes time. Mr. Hamill, would you mind terribly if I showed my wife the office?"

"Of course, by all means! I'll just wait outside, shall I?"

Sirius nodded, pulling his wife in through the door. She relished the rare contact.

"Why, Sirius," she cooed, "what ever is the rush?" He said nothing as they neared his office door. He tugged his keys violently from his trouser pocket and struggled with the lock for a full minute before forcefully pushing the door open.

"Get in," he said without looking at her.

"Wha-"

"Now."

He pushed her inside before shutting the door. When he turned around, he had fire in his eyes and she couldn't help thinking he looked absolutely gorgeous, if not a tad (a lot) frightening. She cowered.

"Do you have any sense of propriety?"

If she'd had notions regarding what she thought he was going to say, she was certainly mistaken.

"Pardon?"

"Were you raised in a barn? By wolves, perhaps?"

Confusion quickly receded, pushing indignation to the forefront.

"Excuse me-"

"Are you inebriated? Though that's not much of an excuse, I must say, and -dear God- it's not even _noon_, I'd prefer to think your brazen behavior is the influence of alcohol and not actually your own volition, because while we _can_ mend your alcohol dependence, it will be a more trying deal correcting your personality."

After his speech, she was paralyzed with offense, highly affronted, and livid. "That is a fine way to speak to your wife. I shall have to ask you where you learned _your_ manners," she rebuked, as coldly as her eyes conveyed the insult. This may be her husband, but this was her _character_ he was insulting, and if she didn't stand up for herself, how could he respect her? And how could one love someone he doesn't repect?

"This line of talk is irrelevant," Sirius said, shaking his head distractedly, as if shaking any antagonism from his head. "You do _not_ converse with other men- a colleague, at that!- when you're in a state of undress." (Is that jealous?) She perked. "It is highly improper. Your behavior says as much of my character as it does yours, so next time you feel the need to act inappropriately, remember you are representing two."

"Oh, Mr. Hamill didn't seem to mind." She waved her hand airily. "In fact," she leered, "I'd say that, being a man, he rather appreciated it."

Sirius inhaled audibly, and she knew she'd inadvertently plucked the right chord. "It's nice to have someone," she paused to brush fingertips delicately over her clavicle to toy coquettishly with her top button, smiling all the while, "_appreciate _me."

If she was hoping to incite some declaration of jealousy and confession of love, she was sadly mistaken. Sirius scoffed. "How highly you think of yourself! I'm sure you've been told that conceit is unbecoming." She huffed at this attack on her character. "And furthermore, you do not speak that way of Mr. Hamill. He is a happily married man of over thirty years."

"And that's a regulation, is it? You get married and that's it, you're instantaneously and perpetually _happy_? Is there even such a thing as monogamy? Honestly, Sirius, I think you're a bit confused. There's marriage and there's fulfillment, but the two do not constitute an unequivocal, united entity."

She gave him a meaningful look (_you _should know that), which he effectively avoided. "I know," he murmured, then looked at her sharply, demanding, "You _will_ behave, is that clear? There will be no more of your baby talk."

"You cannot just avoid an issue like that, Sirius!" she spat, simmering. "You may the man, but your are a _married_ man now, and I am your wife. You have to talk to me" (Please talk to me). "This is a two-person decision."

"There is a time and a place for marital discussions. Amid dozens of passersby, no. With a colleague as an audience, definitely not. Is this making any sense to you?"

Ignoring the condescension, she replied, "When exactly do you plan to have this discussion then? Hmm? We hardly talk when we're not in public and even then-"

Snippets of former conversations flashed in her mind's periphery: _Pass the jam, please…. Tell Stella not to set my place at dinner… Someone from the office called… _

They talked like strangers.

"…and you don't want to talk about it in public," she continued, as if she hadn't broken off. "When?"

Sirius gave no pause. "We'll talk about it now," he stated. "We're not having; I don't want any, I don't like them, I have no parental abilities," he said simply, "and neither do you."

"I am a woman, of course I have parental abilities."

"First, I highly doubt that. Second, I wasn't talking about that." He smiled knowingly. "I know you don't like children."

"Every woman wants to have children," she defended. She omitted the _don't be absurd_, knowing full well that wouldn't get her anywhere with him. "She wouldn't be a very good wife if she didn't. It is her duty. As is a man's-"

"Spare me. I'm not having this, or any, discussion with a liar," he seethed. "Now if you'll excuse me." He retrieved a stack of papers from a file in his desk drawer and slipped it into a manila envelope before slipping past her toward the door.

"No, Sirius," she insisted with a tremor in her voice. Her chance was slipping away. "No. You cannot write my wishes off like that. You can't just- I want children," she said petulantly, following him out of the office, and grabbed his arm desperately.

He shook her grip off and locked the door. "You and I both know what you want," he quipped. "As for the children," he turned her, "unless you've forgotten how babies come to be, you shouldn't be expecting any. Not from me." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked off down the hall.

She was shocked. He'd never once alluded to…_that_, his repulsion to her, she supposed. He practically just stated, flat out, that he would never consummate with her. No! This child had been her ace in the hole. Without it, she supposed she'd have to extract from him what she wanted the old-fashioned way. Back to Plan One: Seduction.

…Hadn't Sirius made it more than clear that he didn't want her, though?

No, no. He was still a man, and a man can only go so long without sex. He'd come to her when his resolve finally crumbled in on itself like the useless, wet paper bag that it was.

She stood behind the door listening to the murmur of voices outside. Just before pushing the door open, she bit her bottom lip, pinched her cheeks, shook her hair furiously, and unbuttoned her tip button. There. Now whatever Mr. Hamill inferred from her appearance was his own.

She feigned breathlessness when she greeted him. "Oh, h-hello… Mr. Hamill." She took another audible breath and let it out slowly, like a happy little sigh. "Everything alright?" She buttoned her sweater with affected discreetness. It took all of her strength (well, not _all_ her strength, she was, after all, a fortitudinous woman) to repress a self-satisfied smirk as Mr. Hamill appraised her appearance. He smiled knowingly at Sirius, who managed a sheepish half-smile and slight crinkle of the eyes.

"Ah…" was all he said before turning to his wife, sending her a discreet smirk that said _if you think this bothers me, think again_. Which she interpreted as gaining ground. "Right," he said after a beat, "Here you are, sir."

Mr. Hamill accepted the extended envelope. "I'll see you at work tomorrow, eh?" He turned toward Mrs. Black. "It's been a pleasure."

"Likewise, " she replied, inclining her head politely. "Hope to see you soon."

She waved goodbye as Mr. Hamill walked through the crowd of people. When she turned, however, she saw that Sirius was still looking ahead with an unreadable look. She followed his gaze. From what she could discern, he was either looking at a mousy-haired boy or a rather blond young lady- and how dare he stare at another woman!

"Remus!" he shouted preemptively.

To her surprise, the mousy-haired boy's step faltered before he almost reluctantly looked up and smiled.

"You _know_ him?" she asked.

Sirius either ignored or he failed to recognize the patronizing tone because he replied airily, "Yes, he's a good friend. I haven't seen him in ages though. Not since…"

"The wedding?" she queried, relishing his sudden willingness to communicate with her.

"Hmm?" he answered distractedly, waving Remus over. "Oh, no, he wasn't there." Before she had a chance to ask why, he'd already enveloped Remus in a brotherly one-armed hug, while she was left to wonder how someone close enough for Sirius to embrace in public would not have attended his friend's wedding. Though, it didn't seem to bother Sirius, which lead her to assume this Remus fellow must have had a legitimate excuse. Although, from the way Remus was skirting around looking decidedly uncomfortable, it seemed like he was guilty of _something_. Perhaps for not being able to come to the wedding.

"Hello," he said politely. "You must be…"

"Sirius's wife," she affirmed, nodding, "Yes; Remus, right?"

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Yes," he answered, glancing curiously at Sirius. "I am. Er," he extended his hand stiffly, probably realizing the exchange of amenities was due, "How are you?"

She took the proffered hand politely with the required "Well, and you?"

"So," said Sirius after a considerable amount of uncomfortable silence. Remus smiled gingerly, fidgeting with his shirtsleeve. His gaze was focused just over their shoulders; he looked almost as if he were late for or waiting for something, but when she looked over her shoulder, there was nothing there.

"So," she said, interrupting the ever present silence, "How do you know my Sirius?"

Remus shared a glance with Sirius, almost as if he were searching for confirmation, "I'm a friend." He looked at her again. "We share a common workplace."

"Oh? You work together? Sirius never mentioned having a friend at work," she noted, ignoring the petulant voice in her head reminding her that Sirius never tells her anything.

Remus was silent for a beat, then, "No, I suppose he wouldn't. Listen," he said brusquely, talking another quick glance just passed them, "I really should be going. It was very nice meeting you, Mrs... Black…"

"I thought," said Sirius, briskly, before Remus could scamper off, "that you weren't coming back until Tuesday.

Remus hesitated. "I - no. No, I got back Friday."

"Friday," Sirius echoed helplessly, and sounding a little put off for reasons unbeknownst to her. And where exactly was he back _from?_ "You," he stopped and glanced at his wife momentarily. "You should come over for dinner," he finished, still watching her, curiously trying to gauge her reaction.

She smiled. Though she was more than certain this Remus wouldn't be much for company, he was, in fact, company, and with company came opportunity to enact her plan (i.e. grope her husband).

"Oh yes, of course," she assented, smiling broadly at the both of them. "Do come."

After a bit of uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot, Remus answered somewhat ruefully, "I'm terribly busy this afternoon, and I foresee only more work in the future; I have a lot of catching up to do… since the research in France and all. You know," he shrugged vaguely.

"Right," said Sirius simply. "How was that?"

"Oh," said Remus. "Good. It was very nice. You know how I love learning new things."

"_Accounting_, Remus," Sirius laughed. "You're studying accounting. How fascinating can numbers be?"

"Oh, very," he answered, freeing his sleeves for the first time from his vice-like grip. "Listen, I really do have to go," he said regretfully, "but we'll keep in touch, yeah?"

"You could tell me about it," Sirius said quickly. "About France and numbers. Over dinner." The imploring _please_ was left unspoken. Mrs. Black felt Remus ought to just agree; it was the least he could do after not coming to the wedding, and not seeing his friend three weeks since.

"Oh, yes, do," she said excitably. "I'd love to hear all about France. I'm part French, you know." She paused when they both turned to look at her as if they'd forgotten she was there (Honestly! How rude).

"Come?" Sirius entreated, turning back to Remus. "I haven't seen you in ages. It's been bloody James nonstop since."

Remus, she guessed, must have know this little quip about James (who she still remembered was Sirius's best friend, and must also be one of Remus's) must have been in jest, because he smiled reminiscently.

"I suppose," he said, sighing "that I don't have much of a choice, do I? If only to spare you James's company."

Sirius grinned broadly, clapping Remus on the shoulder. "Good man."

A/N: Review? ConCrit? D


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